


let it spill, let it spill

by Thrayonlosa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Non Consensual, Piss Play, Urophilia, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrayonlosa/pseuds/Thrayonlosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay enjoys finding new ways to humiliate and break his pet. (Yes, this fic contains piss kink. Consider yourself warned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	let it spill, let it spill

**Author's Note:**

> So - this happened, and I am suitably concerned for my mental health. I don't even have the excuse of a kink meme prompt. Title from 'LoveBlood' by King Charles, with my apologies to him.

Theon is dozing fitfully, an awful half-sleep that does nothing to relieve his fatigue, when Ramsay jerks his head upright with a brutal hand under his chin. He takes a strangled breath, eyes going wide, and then liquid is spilling into his mouth.

Water. 

Theon is almost crying with joy, even as he shivers while freezing rivulets make their way down his chest. He swallows gratefully, drawing in gasps every time Ramsay tilts the small cup away. His body is so thankful, it does not allow him to wonder where this sudden kindness is coming from.

But it isn't enough; Ramsay is trickling the water into his mouth when he needs to gulp it down. Theon inhales softly, sending his tormentor pleading eyes.

“No,” Ramsay tells him firmly, “A little at a time, or you'll vomit.”

Slowly, slowly, he empties the cup into Theon's eager mouth and Theon's body sags against the wooden cross. The thirst that ravaged him for what feels like days is sated, at least for now, and he finds his eyelids sliding shut.

“Wake up.”

Immediately, Theon obeys, raising his head and looking straight at Ramsay. There's a harshness to his voice now; like the sound of the horn, it sets Theon's very blood on edge. Ramsay smirks, holding up a second cup full or water. This generosity baffles Theon – he's had enough, surely Ramsay can tell that. Why is he offering more?

By the time he has gulped down the second cup and Ramsay is dispensing a third into his mouth, Theon's stomach is beginning to hurt and Ramsay's intentions are becoming clear. Ramsay gives the water to him faster this time, now assured Theon will not retch it all over him. Theon can feel his belly distending, swelling with the amount of fluid and a sharp ache is beginning to make itself known in his lower abdomen.

He turns his head away when Ramsay begins on the fourth cup.

“No more?” Ramsay says, his voice ominous in it's sweetness. “What's the matter? You were moaning for water in your sleep.”

“Enough,” Theon dares to rasp, his body quivering in anticipation of punishment.

It does not come.

“What's the matter?” Ramsay repeats, and Theon knows he must answer.

“It's enough,” he says again, “Thank you, but I – ” He averts his eyes. “I need to piss.”

Something changes in Ramsay's expression. There is malicious glee in his eyes. This is what he'd intended all along – oh gods, he wasn't giving Theon water out of the goodness of his heart (what goodness?) or even necessity. It's all another sick game and Theon groans as he feels a spasm of desperation in his groin.

“How badly?” Ramsay asks, practically singing with delight. 

Not waiting for an answer, he begins unlacing the dirty garment covering Theon's private area. Theon groans in dismay but doesn't dare struggle – he is too afraid that he'll lose control if he fights. The need to urinate is already terrible; he feels hot from head to toe which would be a welcome change if not for the circumstances.

Now naked, Theon concentrates everything he has on not giving Ramsay what he wants. He cannot hold himself, nor can he twist his thighs together to relieve some of the ache. His cock, already so full, twitches and Ramsay's eyes light up.

“Oh, you really do have to piss, don't you?” he crows, getting to his knees to examine the bulge of Theon's abdomen. Putting a hand on it, he presses gently and Theon cries out in pain. Ramsay grins and gently rocks Theon's body from side to side with his hand, and gods, Theon can feel the liquid sloshing inside him.

“Fuck!” he moans out. “Please!”

“Now look – I warned you about 'please'.”

“Oh – please, you have to let me – ”

Ramsay gives a laughing scoff and slaps Theon's cock sharply, making him whimper.

“I don't _have_ to do anything, you impudent little cunt.” he growls. “If you piss on me, I'll cut it off and you'll have to squat like a woman.”

Theon's face twists in agony and concentration as Ramsay touches his prick again, more gently this time. He wraps one hand around it, stroking him and Theon gasps in apprehension. What can his tormentor mean by this?

He soon finds out when his traitorous cock twitches, hard in Ramsay's grip. He can't piss, even if he weren't trying so hard to hold it, in this state. He doesn't want to be hard because of Ramsay's touch, but the pressure on his bladder makes it impossible not to become so. 

“Let's play a game, shall we?” Ramsay suggests coltishly. “I'll untie you, and you're going to kneel and touch yourself for me.”

Theon shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but does not dare resist outright.

“And we'll say... _you_ win if you bring yourself off before you piss everywhere.” Ramsay is grinning. “I win if you do it all over the floor like a dog.”

As he unties Theon's hands, they fly to hold himself – even so hard he feels like he will lose it at any moment. He kneels, staring pleadingly at Ramsay who is dragging his chair across the room, closer to the cross. He sits down, spreading his thighs comfortably, and eyes Theon with mild irritation.

“Perhaps I should have been more specific,” he says. “Stroke yourself, Lord Theon. Pleasure yourself. Don't just sit there clutching your prick. Are you an idiot?” He settles back, eyes drifting to Theon's crotch.

Gritting his teeth, Theon obeys. The pleasure he would usually feel while having at himself is a shadow; overwhelmed by the aching need to relieve himself. Nevertheless, his body responds as usual and pre-come begins to spill in earnest from the tip of his cock, running down his fingers and wrist. Theon doesn't know if it is possible for him to climax like this – his need is a white agony now, and combining with the response of his body to his own hand. He is trembling. Slitting his eyes to see if he is pleasing Ramsay, Theon notes with a lurch of his stomach that Ramsay has a hand inside his smallclothes.

The realisation that Ramsay is enjoying his humiliation that much can only mean more of the same. More games, more pain – and the thought makes Theon's erection waver slightly. It is fatal, and Ramsay is grinning again, because they both know that now it is only a matter of moments.

Theon gasps and then sobs as piss begins to trickle through his fingers. He hangs his head, tries desperately to stop the flow but the relief is too great and it soon becomes a steady stream, spilling onto the floor below and coating his hands. It feels so good, and it's the only semblance of pleasure Theon has felt in weeks, so in the moment it hardly matters that Ramsay is watching and Theon's hand falls away from his cock, pissing freely now. He moans low in his throat at the release of pressure – it _is_ almost like when he comes, and he thinks that he very well could when he's finished, if Lord Ramsay wants it. As the stream finally ebbs and he finds himself kneeling in a puddle, Theon hears slow clapping.

“I win. Lord Theon, that was quite a performance,” says Ramsay, “And now I must go.” 

Theon sags in a different kind of relief. He has pleased Ramsay. Perhaps there will be no further punishment. 

Ramsay gets up out of his chair and steps forward. He has freed his prick from his smallclothes and holds it in his hand. Theon blinks stupidly at it, swallowing unconsciously. Of course, he's misunderstood.

“Open your mouth,” Ramsay orders in his soft, dangerous voice, and grabs a handful of Theon's hair.

“Pl – ” Theon aborts his own plea for Ramsay to stop – isn't this enough? Oh gods, it will never be enough. Ramsay is relentless. Tears flood clean tracks down Theon's dirty face and he parts his lips slowly, closing his eyes once more.

He screws up his face as he feels warm liquid hit his neck, pouring over his back and shoulder. He keeps his eyes shut and tries hard not to flinch as Ramsay directs the stream across his lips, cheeks, nose – keeping his head upright with that hand in his hair. The sharp scent of both their urine fills the chamber. When Ramsay releases him, Theon immediately allows his head to fall forward and lets Ramsay piss in his hair. Humiliation has rendered him powerless to resist. It seems like hours before Ramsay is finished.

Even then it isn't over. Theon hears Ramsay's breath quicken and recognizes the sloppy stroking sounds close to his face. Mercifully, this time it doesn't take very long. He winces when Ramsay groans his release and tries to ignore the pulses of hot come streaking across his already saturated hair. At least Ramsay isn't making him watch, or doing it in his mouth.

He will probably save that for next time.

Theon keeps his eyes shut as he allows himself to be tied back up to the cross, hardly able to bear the shame as piss and come alike dry all over him. He'd almost rather Ramsay had cut off another of his fingers. When - and only when - Ramsay has left the room, Theon spits savagely, but cannot rid his mouth of the taste.


End file.
